Dance
by Mojo The Monkey
Summary: AU A visit to the nightclub Dark proves to have more interesting people than Schuldig could have hoped. The dancer he tunes into has more problems than the norm. When Schuldig finds just how deep the rabbit hole goes, will he stick around?
1. Dance, Dance, Dance

Disclaimer: If I owned it, it would be a MUCH different show. Heh heh heh.

A/N: Never seen the show. Doesn't mean I can't be obsessive about it. And about Farfie. I 3 Farfie. And Schwarz in general. -smirk-

* * *

It was that incessant thrumming of the hearts and minds around him that really got Schuldig dancing. It wasn't the syncopated music nor the asinine lyrics. It wasn't the flashing lights or the crush of bodies. It wasn't the abundance of drugs or the overflowing alcohol. It was being in tune with the minds of those around him that got his heart racing. There wasn't a drug or liquor in the world that could give him the same feeling as that. He got drunk off of thoughts and high off of emotions. He nearly devoured the minds of those around him, just so he could get more. It wasn't enough. It was never enough.

Tonight was his first trip to _Dark_. Well, that wasn't fair. It was everyone's first trip to _Dark_, considering the fact that tonight was the club's opening night. The majority of the crowd was on the guest list; the best of the best from the other local clubs. Only the beautiful or the rich (or the beautiful AND rich) were allowed in tonight if they weren't on the list already. Schuldig was beautiful, there was no doubt about it, but it was still easier to just give the bouncer a mental nudge to look the other way and then slip in when his head was turned.

The club wasn't much different from most places he went to. The music varied, though, and for that he was thankful. It wasn't the same techno drabble over and over again that seemed to haunt his favorite night spots. There was rock thrown into the mix, some remixed jazz, even a few low, sultry, slower tunes. He enjoyed those the most. He always loved the way the music just seemed to flow through him and to every limb. Even his toes danced when he was really into the moment. And when he was, the thoughts of those nearest him were tuned into him. A lot of them did so without him even having to give a customary nudge. And, if there was one thing Schuldig wasn't, it was modest. He loved having those eyes on him.

This particular evening had him dressed to the nines. His top clung to him, almost desperate in the way it held on to him. Black, naturally, and solid, though the long sleeves were mesh. The leather he wore below the waist hugged each curve, every nuance of his legs, leaving nothing to the imagination and showing off an ass that just SCREAMED to be touch. Despite what his clothing said, though, his demeanor gave off a very distinct air of 'you can touch me when I tell you that you can,' and so he was left blissfully alone, even through being surrounded. After all, you look with your eyes, not with your hands.

There was one more feature of the club that Schuldig had a particular fondness for. The caged dancers that worked just feet above the crowd nearly had him hypnotized. Men, women, exotic, plain, they were all there, and they were all masters of their craft. The red haired German made his way over to the bar and ordered a drink, hauling himself up onto the stool. When it came, he whirled around in the chair to admire the dancers above his head. He put up a minor mental block to keep people from bothering him while he scanned those in the cages, dancing as if their very lives were on the line. Which, for all intensive purposes, they could very well have been. You never knew around here. Times were tough. Deals were made. He could only half imagine what one like this could have been. _Dance or die._

His eyes were flicking from dancer to dancer, paying particular attention to those of his own preferred gender, when they stopped on one cage near the center of the floor. Any other time, Schuldig may have given the man in the cage a passing glance or two, but something else altogether made him come to a halt. There was a silence emanating from that man. A silence so sudden and so _full_ that Schuldig wondered how he hadn't noticed it earlier. He'd never found silence before. Not without being so high and drunk off his ass that even his own thoughts were unknown to him. His entire world had upended upon this one discovery. It was like the light at the end of the tunnel, the pot at the end of the rainbow, a glass of water to a man who'd been in the desert for too long. Schuldig had been looking for this person, this one being who could make that veil fall. Unfortunately, when he turned his attention away from the dancers, the voices came back louder than before until he was able to tune them down as usual.

When he turned back to the dancer, he could finally hear thoughts. Small, quiet musings, but they were there. So, maybe the silence wasn't as complete as he had hoped. But at the very least, this man seemed to be able to quell his thought processes enough that Schuldig had to actually _look_ for what he was thinking. The only thoughts he were gathering now from him were _dance, dance, dance_ and nothing else. And people said _he_ had a one track mind. Hmph.

Now that he'd been reassured that he hadn't gone temporarily insane, Schuldig settled in to watch this dancer. He was certainly one of the more exotic ones the cages held. He studied him slowly, from toe to top. Heeled boots clad his feet, hugging his legs and ending halfway up his calf. Where the black of the boots ended, white skin began. It glistened slightly in the lighting of the club, and Schuldig watched the muscles twist a moment, a low grin playing across his face. Continuing on his path of observation, he almost started laughing out loud at the hot pants, before realizing they clung to the dancer's body _very_ nicely. He had to pause a moment to wonder if that was au natural or of the dancer, ahem, stuffed. Dastardly practice, that. A mesh tank top, that may as well not have been there for all the good it did, covered his wiry frame, and even in the dim lighting, Schuldig could see a few faint outlines of scars. He could feel the potential for some real power behind those thinly veiled muscles in his arms and torso, too. Finally, his eyes came around to the face, and he let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

He'd never seen a face quite like it. Scars, numerous and deep, shone against the pale skin, their depths heightened by the dancing lights overhead. There was an eye patch over the left eye, and Schuldig desperately wanted to see what was underneath it. The eye that remained uncovered was closed, the face lifted in ecstasy as the man continued to dance. White-blonde hair was cropped short to his head, and Schuldig wondered if it was as soft as it looked. The face lowered for a moment and the eye came open, and the amethyst that greeted the German's vision wasn't what he had expected. Not one bit. But, still, that color just seemed to…_work._

And the overall package was very much to Schuldig's liking. The scars intrigued him, to be sure, as did the eye patch. The man also had all the grace of a dancer. It almost looked like a cat inhabited his body and possessed his limbs, with motions that fluid. Water held together by skin. He twisted and contorted himself into all sorts of interesting positions that made Schuldig smirk and think all sorts of lovely thoughts. The man seemed to be enthralled with his work, and if his constant thought stream of _dance, dance, dance_ was any indication, he was. Finally, Schuldig dropped his _hiss, stay away from me_ mental guards and turned around to chat with the bartender about his dancer.

He waved the young girl over and smiled faintly, still nursing his drink. He leaned against the bar, propping his head on a hand, and smirked. "Who's that dancer in the middle cage?" He turned around a moment and pointed at the white haired man briefly before reverting his attention to her.

She was grinning at him, alternating between fixing drinks and washing glasses. "Our first night, and already he's our most popular dancer." She snickered quietly and filled a few more orders, eyes flickering over Schuldig's shoulder and to the cage. "Well, we all know him as Farfarello. Which makes sense for a place like this. It's a name taken from Dante's _Inferno_, y'know? One of the demons. Anyway, that's just what we know him as. He has a real name, but only our boss knows it." Well, she certainly sounded like she'd given this speech a few times tonight.

Schuldig nodded slowly, swishing his drink about in his mouth as he took that in. One of Dante's demons, hmm? "What happened to his eye?"

At this, she finally paused a moment and looked up, shrugging helplessly. "Don't know. Some of the other dancers think that he still has it, and the patch is just a part of his 'look.' I don't believe that, myself. You've seen the scars on him, right? It wouldn't surprise me if he doesn't have an eye under there. Anything else?"

Schuldig nodded again, placing his empty glass on the counter where the bartender quickly picked it up, dumping it away to be cleaned. Her little comment just made him more determined than before to find out what laid behind that patch. "Yeah. What time's his break?" He rather figured the boy would be dancing all night, but that didn't mean he didn't get to be off for any amount of time. In fact, the boss would be fired if he didn't allow his workers breaks.

"That's the weird part. He refuses to take any breaks. His cage has been raised twice already, and both times it came back down, he was still in it. It's like he doesn't even care that his body's getting tired." The tender shrugged and moved away once more to fill some more orders. Schuldig sighed softly and whirled around in his seat to watch once more. He'd rather been looking forward to possibly chatting this Farfarello up a bit, but that obviously wasn't going to be possible. He'd just have to wait until the club closed to get his opportunity.

The last tendril of thought he gathered from Farfarello before heading out onto the floor once again was _dance, dance, dance_.


	2. Silence is Frustrating

Crimson1: Wow, thanks for pointing that out! I hadn't even realized I'd put amethyst. (I'd meant to put amber. Go figure.) Anyway, it's actually worked out well! Hah.  
chronic-fever: Done and done.

* * *

He was growing impatient. He'd never been one to sit around and _wait_ for so long for something so…well, it really wasn't all that important, was it? A chat with a dancer. This was precious time that could have been spent taking a stranger into the bathroom and letting out his frustrations. Twice. To four separate people. Instead, he found his eyes dragged back time and time again to the stranger in the cage. It didn't matter how many times he looked, the white haired man was there, dancing away. Schuldig had stamina, but even he couldn't dance for hours on end. Not that voraciously, in any case. He had a sneaky suspicion that Farfarello would be the perfect partner for those dance-a-thons people used to have.

When the club finally had its last call, it was nearing three in the morning. Schuldig stumbled his way outside to the fresh night air and took in a deep breath, allowing the crisp morning air to wake him up a bit. He sighed softly and closed his eyes before moving off to the side to lean against the wall of the club. More people began filing out of the club as it closed, several of them squinting at the lights that lined the streets. They murmured their goodbyes before parting and heading back to their homes, leaving Schuldig blissfully alone. He pulled out his silver cigarette case from his pants pocket and stuck one in his mouth before he began patting around for his lighter. _Damnit. I've lost it again, haven't I?_

"Need a light?" A cool voice sounded from beside him, and he nearly jumped in shock when a flame appeared in front of his face. Why hadn't he heard anyone approaching? They should learn to think louder. He leaned forward to light the end of the cigarette and took a drag on it before turning his head to thank the person and paused. It was his dancer. Farfarello. He blinked a few times, trying to discern why something looked different about him, aside from the fact that he was now dressed down in a relaxed pair of jeans and a black t-shirt, when it hit him. His uncovered eye was no longer the amethyst he had seen in the club. What gazed at him now was a swimming topaz hue.

He smirked faintly and pulled the cigarette away from his lips, letting out a sultry curl of smoke as he smirked at the white haired man. "Thanks." He murmured this quietly and took another pull, relishing in the taste of tobacco coursing through his system. Mmm, taste that cancer. He let his gaze float over the other, who seemed perfectly content to merely stand there and watch him desecrate his body, before speaking again. "You're one of the club's dancers, right?"

This seemed to snap the sinewy man out of his reverie and he nodded, smirking a bit. "That I am. Center cage." He chuckled quietly at this and casually laid his hands on his hips, jutting one out to the side. Schuldig found himself watching that hip and the way the black shirt rose just slightly to give a slight flash of skin before his eyes snapped back up again at more words. "I saw you watching me in there." It was hard to miss that red hair in a sea of black, especially from his vantage point.

Schuldig, however, had taken a too quick drag on the cigarette in his hand and he began coughing on the smoke. He threw the stick to the ground and stamped it out before turning his azure gaze toward the other man. "You did?" It was hard to keep the amazement out of his voice as he asked that. He didn't get caught at things like that often, so to say it was unnerving at best was being optimistic. He tried to capture any thoughts from the other that he could, but only found himself up against a rock-hard resistance. Either the man he faced had some sort of gift like he did, or someone had enforced a mental wall around him. Any way he looked at it, he was both intrigued and antsy about the situation.

Farfarello nodded, smirking at the obvious look of apprehension that flickered across the red-head's face. He covered up an amused sound with a cough, passing it off as a reaction to the smoke. "I did. It's hard to miss that hair of yours amongst all of the black that massed on the dance floor." His eye flitted over the other, smirk still in place.

Schuldig merely nodded at his response. It made sense. His hair made him stand out wherever he went. It wasn't often you came across something so bright and so…_there._ "Well, then, if you saw me watching you, I have no problems with asking this. Wasn't your eye another color in there?" It'd been bothering since the man had sidled up to him. He could have _sworn…_

Farfarello merely nodded, moving to lean on his arm against the wall, facing Schuldig. "Colored contacts. I'm going to have a different color each night. The boss says it makes me even more 'dynamic.'" He actually chuckled a little bit at this and slid his arms over his chest, crossing them.

The other glanced at him at this statement and he raised an eyebrow. "More dynamic? I really don't think you need any more help in that category." Schuldig paused when he noted what he said and resisted the urge to smack his forehead with the heel of his hand. _Idiot. Should try to be a little more smooth in the future, dumbass. You sound like a freaking fan girl._

The white haired man merely laughed at this, and Schuldig found that he was rather liking the sound of his laughter. Farfarello nodded a bit, still snickering quietly. "No, you're right. I tried to tell _him_ that, but he wasn't having any of it. So, in the contact went. I think tomorrow night's going to be orange." He snorted a bit before leaning his head back to glance up at the dark morning sky. Schuldig watched the graceful arch of his neck and licked his lips before the face came back down again. "I'm Farfarello, by the way."

"Schuldig." He replied, realizing that he'd been asking questions before even introducing himself. That was so very unlike him, but he had been far too distracted by that eye to care about it. Farfarello let out a great gaping yawn, and it struck him, then, that the dancer was probably rather exhausted from his night. He pursed his lips, loathe to part from his company. "Hey, I know this all night diner not far from here if you'd like to go hit that up."

The other man actually paused a moment, his eye flicking toward the club, as if he were debating something. A flash of worry crossed his face but he shook his head, leaving Schuldig to wonder what that had been all about. "I'd love to."

* * *

It didn't take long to get to the all-night diner Schuldig had mentioned, even with walking. It was only a block and a half away from the club, after all. They walked in a companionable silence the entire way, Schuldig trying to get into Farfarello's mind, the dancer simply walking. It was chilly that early in the morning, and Schuldig desperately wished he had his jacket with him. Well, it wasn't like he had been planning on not going straight home (whether it was his or not was up for debate).

When they got there, they made their way over to a booth and sat opposite each other, Farfarello actually looking glad for the chance to sit down. They each ordered a mug of coffee, Schuldig with some cream, Farfarello ordering it straight black. When their drinks came, they sat back and sipped at the hot liquid quietly, each eyeing the other. Probably trying to figure out what to talk about. Normally, holding a solid conversation wasn't difficult for Schuldig, when he could _know what was on the person's mind!_ That was really starting to slowly piss him off. He wasn't complaining that it was happening; he just wished he knew what was so special about this man across from him.

Finally, as the silence stretched between them, he couldn't stand it anymore. Never let it be said Schuldig didn't like the sound of his own voice, anyway. "So, what made you decide to be a club dancer?" He finally settled on asking, raising his coffee mug to his lips once more.

Farfarello played with his own for a moment before taking a drink, pondering this. "Well, there were a couple factors that went into the decision. I _do_ like to dance and, right now?" He raised the glass, another swallow passing his lips. "That's the only reason you need." He paused for a moment, allowing a corner of his mouth to raise into a smirk. "Maybe you can find out more on our date tonight."

Schuldig was about ready to give up on getting any more answers when that last statement reached his ears. He nearly choked on the coffee he'd been taking a drink of and lowered the mug to the table once more, lest he spill it. Had he _heard_ him right? Had he just said something about a date? "…Come again? Did you just say something about a date?" He paused, suddenly on the defensive. "What makes you think I'm into guys?" He wasn't _that_ noticeable, was he?

The white haired man merely laughed and pushed his empty coffee mug forward. "Would you honestly have asked me to a cup of coffee if you weren't?" When he didn't receive an answer, he took that as silent agreement to the question, and continued on. "And, yes. I said a date. I have every Sunday, Tuesday, and Thursday off from work. Boss wants me on Friday and Saturday, the busy nights, and the rest of the week's pretty slow. So, a date. What, are you declining the offer?" He arched an eyebrow at him incredulously, and nearly laughed again when Schuldig shook his head.

"Nuh uh. Just took me as a bit of a shock, is all." He looked around for a pencil, and finding a short, stubby one near a pad of paper on their table, he brought it over and began scribbling things down. "Here. My phone number, cell number, and address. If you can't catch me at home, I'll certainly answer my cell. Thing's never off." He tore off the sheet of paper and handed it over, even as Farfarello took the pad and began writing down his own information and handing it over, as well.

He stood slowly and stretched, and Schuldig couldn't help but watch as a small patch of white skin peaked from under the shirt. Hell, no wonder the man had been able to pin him for what he was. Kind of hard to miss when he kept openingly ogle the man like that. His eyes flickered up as Farfarello leaned down against the table, putting their faces dangerously close together. He could feel the other's breath cascade across his skin. "I'll call you sometime after one." Winking, he stood straight, turned, and sauntered out of the diner, leaving Schuldig to watch that sensuous sway of hips, almost hypnotically.

He let out a low, appreciative whistle before finishing off his coffee, smirking faintly against the mug against his lips. Now _that_ was a fine piece of ass that sashayed out the door. And Schuldig was certainly man enough to admit that.


End file.
